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trashmouth-richie · 9 months

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𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: escaping Hawkins was impossible, but he did it. when a ghost from your past shows up unexpectedly, bringing with him old memories and holding up a mirror to the train wreck life you’re living… you find it hard to trust him again.

𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ no minors, depictions of poverty, child neglect/ endangerment, drug use/abuse, alcohol use/abuse, endangerment, 18+ sex working, 18+stripping, violence, smut. no use of y/n reader has a name that’s introduced in the first chapter, and another “nickname” that is lightly used throughout this series. eddie also has a nickname given by reader.

𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: this series switches pov’s between reader and eddie, thank you to @succubusmunson @joejoequinnquinn @choke-me-eddie @sweetsweetjellybean for helping me read through the first chapter, helped me brainstorm etc i love you

there are two easter eggs in this let me know if you catch em! like pokémon only not

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞: here i come, but i ain’t the same

masterlist

Stupid fucking bitch.

One dial tone waned into another, a monotonous wave taunting you from the end of the receiver. Your fingers tap impatiently against the counter. How long could a phone actually ring before it stopped or someone finally answered?

Too damn long apparently.

Giving up and counting your losses, you slam the receiver back on the wall, muttering more choice words as you skirt your hips behind the wooden bar, thumbing through the blue lined notebook schedule.

Work was packed. More-so than any other Friday night, but since it was the beginning of graduation weekend for Hawkins High— every Sam, Dick, and Harry had wandered into the bar looking for a cheap escape and a sugary drink.

Lucky for them, that was exactly what Queen of Hearts had on the menu. And if you talked to the right person, the luck didn’t stop there.

“No answer?” Jolene called over her shoulder, hands full with a bottle of Jack Daniels.

Scribbling an angry dark mark through the name Ginger on the schedule, you toss the notebook back into the drawer shutting it with your hip.

“Just rang and rang,” you say, annoyingly jumping in to help her finish pouring three Jack & Cokes. The soda fizzes under your thumb, “and before you try to cover for her, this is the fourth time she’s done this.”

She lets out an exaggerated sigh, taking the cans from you and tossing them into the trash.

“Really thought this one would work out,” her long legs cross behind you to slot the liquor bottle back in its designated spot, “she had kids.. poor thing needed the cash.”

The familiar ache of neglect radiated through you, “I found a babysitter for the nights she was working, told her I’d help pay… that asshole she keeps around probably found out she was working here.”

Jolene raises her eyebrows. Her slender fingers hold the three drinks with ease, setting them on a tray.

“Can’t believe Jackie skipped town with that rich salesman,” she sighs heavily, leaning an elbow on the sticky bar, “lucky girl, something like that would never happen to me.”

Jealousy pings in your chest but you shake it off, “he was really dreamy huh? Those beauty marks? His hair? His ass?” You wolf whistle, “cut me a slice.”

You weren’t jealous that Jackie was now probably driving a BMW, that her life would be nothing but luxurious from here on out, or even that her boyfriend was movie star hot.

What made your blood boil over was the fact that she got out, and you were still stuck here like hardened gum underneath a table.

The club was a part of you. Like an unwanted birthmark, this lifestyle was something you couldn’t get away from. Understanding at a young age, when most girls were playing with dolls, just exactly the kind of life you were destined to live, and unfortunately it wasn’t outside of these four walls.

“Your time will come,” Jolene smiled, looking into a compact and wiping a smudge of lipstick from her teeth, “you’re still young, Miss Assistant.”

You rolled your eyes, placing the tray on her awaiting palm. Since Jackie was gone, her job was now yours. Tacking on added responsibilities with no pay raise in sight. You found out all too soon what a fucking joke that title of ‘assistant’ actually was.

“Told him I didn’t want it, but you know how that went.”

“I do kid,” she sighs, looking down at you, her eyes sweeping over the still pink scar in your eyebrow, “I really… oh honey, you’re gonna be a busy little bee tonight!”

You breathe heavily through your nose, dragging your hands down your face, “don’t remind me.”

“I’ll help out wherever, ‘kay?”

Jolene had taken you under her wing when you first walked into Queen of Hearts. Freshly eighteen almost down to the hour, naive waters brimming your eyes, forced into this life.

Her motherly ways comforted everyone, only thirty-three but in this industry that was practically ninety. Just like you, Jolene had deep roots in this place.

Her tall frame slinks over to the waiting guys sitting at the stage, a pleasant smile on her lips. Twirling the ends of her black hair twisted into schoolgirl pigtails, laying the charm on thick.

Staring over at her in a forlorn gaze, you hated to think of yourself still here ten years from now, a permanent fixture to this place, like Jolene. The lemons of life were squeezed and you had made the lemonade, but it was sour, bitter.. you longed for something sweeter.

The bubbly fantasy is popped when Mickey Fritz’ oversized hand hits the counter like he’s a toddler in a highchair.

“Hey sugar tits, I’m empty o’er here!”

Your nightmare reality comes back into view.

The walls at Queen of Hearts were draped in deep shades of red velour, a cozy ambiance to invite strangers and locals alike. The bar was backlit and stocked with a decent selection of polished bottles of whiskey, gin and bourbon.

His boots clapped along the wood floor as the pair walked further inside, leaving a plume of smoke in their wake, catching on the neon lights and creating a smoked crimson haze across the dark club.

The raised stage was centered, creating an aisle on either side of it, clad with leather backed red chairs surrounding it at every angle. For a night club in the middle of Indiana, it wasn’t half bad compared to the places he was used to out East.

A row of booths were tucked onto the left side of the club, high top tables stood crowded with drunk college students, yelling loudly and making asses of themselves to impress the working girls.

The music blaring over the speakers was a little cliche and too “pop” for his liking—fuck, had he really turned into one of those guys, questioning what a strip club was playing for music?

He rolls his eyes at his own false pretentiousness, turning it into a wink at a cocktail waitress carrying a tray full of plastic flutes filled with a gut rot of pink liqueur. The gold thong she was wearing sat high on her hips, matching the cheap glittery cowboy hat on her blonde curls.

Dark eyes follow her long legs to a nearby table, a fist to his mouth as he whistles and licks his chomps.

“Damn! Can you believe this used to be the Hideout?” Jeff squawked, not so casually adjusting himself as they slid into an open booth, “that was Gareth Emerson’s twin sister, she really grew up huh, remember him?”

He didn’t.

Much like anyone else Jeff had tried to bring up since he had agreed to meet up for a drink on the occasion that they were both home, he hadn’t given high school a second thought since the night he left.

“Nah, man,” he said, grabbing for the sticky menu on the black table top, “I don’t.”

It had been years since he had seen Jeff, and he was surprised that he had recognized him at the gas station last night when he was filling up his motorcycle.

His own appearance hadn’t changed much, dressed a little better, wore cologne now, normal shit that came along with getting out of puberty.

Back then Jeff still had braces, a small lisp when he got really drunk. Now, he was a grown man. Living in Phoenix with a big important job at some company, home for the weekend to visit his parents, and watch his youngest brother graduate.

There would be no visiting family or old friends for him on this trip back to Hawkins. The thought of running into anyone he knew and having that painfully awkward small talk about the ‘good old days as a Tiger!’ made him cringe, as if that ever were the case for him.

Having left this shit hole in the middle of the night seven years ago, he took nothing with him but some saved cash, his guitar, a full tank of gas and the clothes on his back.

The heavy ache in his chest, brim filled with remorse, was an added carry on, something that didn’t go away with the miles he had put between him and Hawkins.

He had planned to keep this town in the rearview, but life, probably karma, had other plans.

Back in Hawkins strictly on “business,” that's what he told Jeff when the smiley old friend grabbed him into a bear hug in the checkout line, crushing the chips he was carrying to a powder in its aluminum bag.

Technically, it was family business. But he hadn’t mentioned that to Jeff. He didn’t want the questions, didn’t want the pity.

He barely even knew his uncle that well anyway, but being the only living relative of the deceased, he didn’t have a choice when the call came through that he had passed.

A week. That was the timeframe he told his job that he’d be gone for. Leaving just enough time to plan the funeral, and sell the trailer.

Coming home to the haunting shadows of Hawkins was like playing in a graveyard filled with demons of his past. Sorrow filled every dark corner, looming around him like a fog, making him unable to forget the damage left behind.

For years it had worked out fine, he had moved on. But every now and then, he had to push his inner demons down, and still to this day, years after the fact, they kept trying to crawl back up. The shame of his past coming to the forefront.

The music changes to another upbeat song that was popular on the radio, Jeff nods along to the beat, strumming his fingers against his belly like he was playing the guitar.

He looked over at his old highschool friend and smiled for the first time since being back here, “still play?”

Jeff stretched a wide grin across his face, chuckling a little too loud, “only in my dreams… working seventy-hour weeks doesn’t really allow me to have that kinda freedom.” He nodded and smiled a little at the waitress who was coming to take their drink orders, “so what have you been up to man? It’s been years!”

He knew all too well about not having free time to spend the way he had wanted to. He didn’t even own a guitar anymore. The last time he saw his Warlock, it was sitting in a pawn shop in Nashville— the last of his many possessions sold to make ends meet.

Ordering a beer, he counts his budget for this trip in his head, deciding to buy Jeff’s drink too. Maybe being back wouldn’t be so bad after a drink or two, a little liquid courage to get him through the night at least.

The pleather seat creaks beneath his weight when he leans back further into the booth, stretching his arms out wide. Trying to gain a sliver of comfort since being home.

Working the pole to Ginger’s song of choice, Once Bitten, Twice Shy, you found it hard to get into music you could care less about. But you didn’t have time to complain.

Legs crossed and spinning upside down, bare besides a face full of makeup and a red thong, you pretended that you were anywhere else but there.

How nice it would be to not have to crawl across dirty dollar bills, teasing a faceless man with your body so that he would be eager enough to slip a twenty into your g-string.

Collecting your tips from your set, you tap them against your vanity in the dressing room, counting out loud your mind already knowing how much money will be put away after bills are paid.

The long jagged crack in your mirror served as the only looking glass you liked to look in. The warped shapes of your face looking back at you made it easier to swallow the life you were living, as if it were a fever dream, a disturbed Alice in Wonderland type reality.

In the mirror you weren’t a dancer at Queen of Hearts. You could be a nurse, a librarian, a cook in a shitty home town restaurant who went home smelling like grease instead of men’s cologne and wearing suspicious stains.

It could be easy, simple really. Bus tickets weren’t terribly expensive. Going to any city, a map in your hand and the saved coffee can of cash tucked into your purse. You could almost imagine the taste of the ocean. The thought of even stepping outside of Indiana was enough to power you for the rest of the night.

As easily as the daydream came it fluttered away when the boss stepped into the dressing room.

His eyes loomed in a dead stare, sweat pooling on his temples. The ice in his glass shifted as it melted into the whiskey. A Colombian cigar tucked into his fat mouth had an inch long ash waiting to fall.

He wasn’t much taller than you, barely older, but his attitude and small dick made him seem eight feet tall.

“The hell are you doing in here? Fucking Christ woman, the girls are drowning out there, those needle dick college fucks are about to swing fists and you’re in here staring at yourself?”

“Just takin’ a little break Tommy, I gotta change.”

“I don’t need any lip from you, better watch it before I match that other scar y’ hear me?”

His threats didn’t scare you, it was who he answered to that made you terrified. A bad report to the big boss and you’d be drinking your meals through a straw. You knew because it’s already happened. Turns out you don’t need your mouth to swing around a pole.

“Loud and clear.”

This type of life was the only one you had ever known. You quite literally grew up with this environment right under your nose, and everyone at the club knew it.

The romance novels you kept in your purse were full of knights in shining armor type of men, another fallacy to your looking glass.

The thought of anything else was only real in your daydreams. Escaping the festering wound of Hawkins was impossible, almost unheard of. No one with your background got out.

But he did.

Shoulder to shoulder, squeezing in sideways with grimy singles fisted in their hands, the club was stuffed to the hilt with sweaty, drunk, and extremely horny men.

“… here!” you slam two more drinks onto the heaping tray and shove it into Wendy’s hands, “take this to those asshats and tell them we are out of triple sec, no more Long Island Ice Teas, if they want a drink they can order beer like everyone else.”

Wendy swung her hips with the Long Islands in tow over to soften the hearts of the college boys. Batting her lashes, sitting topless on their laps and letting them tell her stories of the parties they went to, the classes they skipped and the girls they fucked. Anything to keep them from hollering and starting a fight with the locals.

Lisa Ann was working over the business men from out of town, their briefcases shining with a matte patent leather, expensive watches adorning their wrists. Her pretty Marilyn Monroe smile on display as she brought over their drinks, tussling their hair between her pink fingernails, putty at her fingertips.

Between the rest of you rotating between pouring drinks, collecting payments and trying to wiggle past the grabby hands of Donny, the roar of the busy hour had started to lull.

All of you were tired and crabby, legs cramping and toes pinched in uncomfortable shoes. Jolene wiped her brow and blew out a deep breath.

“Take fifteen,” you said to her, “I got it from here.”

She shot you a wink and disappeared into the dressing room.

Peeling the soles of your boots from the floor you lean your back against the shelf of liquor bottles. Working your hands on the base of your neck behind your head.

The usual crink that ached when you were stressed was flaring up again. Causing your shoulders to tense up and sending a pinched dull ache from your back up to your throbbing temples. Radiating your jaw, with a heat so fierce it could melt glass and it wasn’t even eleven o’ clock yet.

Your eyes are pressed closed in a tight squeeze, maybe you could shut the pain out by pretending it wasn’t there.

“Tiffs just about done in room D,” Veronica chirped, her bracelets jingling in a metallic tune, “the ‘doctor’ again,” she explains with air quotes chuckling to herself.

“He’s only here on nights she’s workin’” you say exhaustedly, “she’s his favorite.”

Being one of the few regulars that wasn’t married, he was somehow the slimiest worm in the dirt. Tall and slender framed with icy white hair, he seemed to stare down his nose at the girls, his voice an eerily calm when he asked for Tiff, handing over the crisp fifties to secure her for the allotted amount of time.

Beads click together as she stumbles in from the back, adjusting her lipstick and holding the ripped strap of her bra, followed behind her like clockwork was the doctor, tucking his oxford shirt into his slacks.

Your jaw felt like it was going to ignite, as if it were covered in tension rods and the gears were cranking it tighter and tighter, sweat beginning to form on your back, “can you hand me my purse?”

Rustling your bag from underneath the bar, Veronica hands over the canvas tote, her emerald eyes staring at you expectantly like a serpent watching its prey, “care to share those little party favors?”

Rolling your eyes, you move your hand through the contents inside. Pushing past a checkbook, lipsticks, and the papered corner of a tampon. Finally your fingers close around the smooth unlabeled bottle.

Two tablets land in your palm when you pop the cap, and you shake it begrudgingly to release another tablet from the bottle for Veronica.

She giggles and grabs two shot glasses, pouring bourbon into them both.

“Only one,” you instruct, a serious look in your eyes, “I’m not picking you up from the floor later.”

A coy little smile on her lips, she brings the shot glasses over, handing one to you, “you worry too much.”

Placing the pill in her free palm, you clink the glasses together in a little cheer.

“To us,” Veronica grins, “may our titties stay perky, our asses juicy, the boys pockets fat and our kitties not loosey.”

You roll your eyes and she laughs, her lips close around the glass the same as yours, and you swallow down the liquor, wincing at the taste.

Within fifteen minutes the temporary high coats your brain like a warm blanket, floating you to a place far away from shiny poles, 6 inch heels, and ass slaps, away from Hawkins.

Jeff listens intently as he explains a very bland and watered down version of how he left Hawkins and traveled east, working odd jobs.

Skipping the part about how he lied about his age to find work, and how he spent an entire month getting his ass kicked after dishwashing shifts at some swanky restaurant outside of Raleigh.

He explained the good stuff, how he worked part time at a tattoo shop for one of his buddies he met in Philly. His full time gig being a lead shift at a factory.

It wasn’t that impressive, he knew that, but he couldn’t make himself give a shit what anyone thought of him. For only being twenty-three, he was proud of having a paycheck every two weeks from a legit place.

The click of the waitresses shoes on the floor had Jeff looking up, thanking her for the drinks. She was dressed a little more conservative than the other waitresses had been, wearing a black mini skirt and a see-through red long sleeved top, showing off black sparkly stickers that covered her nipples.

But that wasn’t what had him taking a second look. At first glance he thought maybe it was just a note written in pen, a reminder of some sort on the top of her hand, lots of people wrote on their hands right? But when she set the drinks down, reaching past them and across the table to grab a napkin, sopping up spilled beer, he almost choked on air.

It wasn’t something written in pen, or a weird unlucky shaped birthmark. The marks on her hand were two small symbols, they had faded with time and were blown out a little on the edges.

Of course they were, because the identical marks on his hand were blurred the exact same way. Two little symbols, done on the hottest day in July. The smell of his childhood room stung his nose as he thought of that day.

A day when you were both only thirteen.

The regulars were bellied up to the bar holding an aluminum can toast to their long gone friend, hollering for you to play some David Allen Coe in a final goodbye.

Flicking through the jukebox to find “Never Even Called Me By My Name,” you were too busy to pay any attention to the toast of the deceased buddy.

Maybe if you had, you wouldn’t have been completely blindsided.

“Clovie?” A disgustingly sweet saccharine voice laced between bubble gum pink lips sang out from behind you, tapping you simultaneously on the shoulder, “be a dolly and run the drinks over to table 8, would ya?”

“Why c—”

Tiff was already gone, the door to the dressing room swinging shut in a shower of White Diamond perfume before you could even spin around and tell her where she could shove those aforementioned drinks.

Outside of collecting her own tips, and pleasuring the doctor, Tiff never lifted a finger to help.

Wiping your hands on the cleanest towel you could find, your muttering goes unheard as you cross back over to the bar and grab the cracked black plastic tray set with two large overflowing mugs of draft beer.

The ground was sticky under your boots, like walking in half dried paint, sometimes you wondered if Wendy actually served a full drink to anyone.

Balancing the heavy tray on your palm and shoulder, you pray that it won’t snap before you’re able to place the drinks down.

Table 8 was occupied by a guy you had seen before but couldn’t remember from where, and a long dark curly haired woman who was facing away from you.

The smile on your face was the fakest one you could make, hoping to maybe get a good tip before Tiff could notice and take her claim.

“Alrighty,” your customer service voice sang with a false sweet sincerity, “looks like we have two Busch Lights?”

The guy you had greeted smiled eagerly, moving his elbows from the table allowing room for the frosty mugs to be placed.

Your fingers work gingerly to set the ruby colored drink napkins down first. The beer was placed carefully, his greedy fingers grabbing the handle before you could barely remove your hand from it.

The second beer started to slide on the tray, and you over corrected causing it to land with a thud on the table, sloshing the pale ale all over the table—luckily not on the woman.

So much for a tip, huh?

Apologizing quickly, you lean across the table and reach for the paper napkins. Wiping up the mess hastily you toss the wet heap onto your tray.

Turning to the woman to offer her a look that’ll hopefully get you in her good graces— well enough that maybe her husband would reconsider tipping, “I’ll go fetch a rag and come back with another beer free of charge sweetheart,” you start to smile sheepishly, “I’m so s—”

The eyes you were met with were the deepest shade of brown, struck with astonishment, crowded by a grove of thick lashes, a look of dismay etched into them.

Blinking once, twice, you couldn’t register if you were truly seeing this or hallucinating.

You hadn’t seen those eyes in years, a flash of recognition drops on your face and the perky smile fades. Heart falling to the well of your stomach, punching the air from your lungs, heat rising to the surface of your cheeks.

In an instant, you’re brought back to many years before tonight. When those eyes were younger, full of teenage angst and rebellion.

Hell must’ve froze over, pigs were without a doubt flying overhead: Eddie Munson had returned to Hawkins.

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#eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x you #eddie fan fiction #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #stranger things

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reasonsforhope · 1 year

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"The search has intensified for alternative energy-saving technologies for heating and cooling that don’t run on fossil fuels.

Now, by mimicking a desert-dwelling chameleon, Chinese scientists have developed a cheap energy-efficient, cost-effective coating on houses.

They say the new material could keep buildings cool in the summer or warm in the winter without using additional energy.

“Many desert creatures have specialized adaptations to allow them to survive in harsh environments with large daily temperature shifts,” said Dr. Fuqiang Wang, author on the paper describing the invention and researcher at the Harbin Institute of Technology. “For example, the Namaqua chameleon of southwestern Africa alters its color to regulate its body temperature as conditions change.”

Pictured: A Namaqua Chameleon

...Many systems, such as cooling paints or colored steel tiles, are only designed to keep buildings either cool or warm, and can’t switch between modes.

Inspired by the Namaqua chameleon, Dr. Wang and his colleagues wanted to create a color-shifting coating that adapts as outside temperatures fluctuate...

When heated to 68 degrees Fahrenheit, the surface began to change from dark to light grey. Once it reached 86F, the light-colored film reflected up to 93% of solar radiation.

“Even when heated above 175 degrees Fahrenheit for an entire day, the material showed no signs of damage,” reported Dr. Wang.

The team then tested it alongside three conventional coatings—regular white paint, a passive radiative cooling paint, and blue steel tiles in outdoor tests on doghouse-sized buildings throughout all four seasons...

In summer, the new coating was significantly cooler than the white paint and steel tiles, according to the findings published in the journal Nano Letters.

“During spring and fall, the new coating was the only system that could adapt to the widely fluctuating temperature changes, switching from heating to cooling throughout the day,” Dr. Wang added.

The researchers say that the color-changing system could save a “considerable” amount of energy for regions that experience multiple seasons, while still being inexpensive and easy to manufacture."

-via Good News Network, September 21, 2023

#chameleon #extreme heat #climate adaptation #architecture #green architecture #saving energy #climate crisis #global warming #sustainability #solarpunk #good news #hope #biomimicry #air conditioning

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kokvv · 11 months

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i jus' wanna stare into satoru's eyes until i fall asleep

his eyes literally have galaxies in them. imagine just laying in bed—cuddled up in blankets, rain pouring against the window—with satoru next to you. he is holding one of your hands and you're just staring at each other in the dimly lit room.

his eyes are the only light except for the cheap lamp flickering over your heads. they're shining in a blue, gentle kind of shade. like the night sky on a really clear night. but even that doesn't really get close to them.

because you can see stars in his eyes. tiny specks of light amidst the clouds in them.

and you can never see the stars in tokyo's sky. you need to go far far away to be able to do that.

every time he blinks, the room gets just a little darker, just a little colder. as if his eyes actually radiate some kind of warmth. you know it's a little stupid to think that way, but you can't tear your gaze away from them and satoru isn't complaining about it either.

so you watch as the clouds in the deep-blue sea shift around, revealing new patterns and designs each time—you could probably see cloud shapes in his eyes if you wanted to. maybe, if it was a different time and day, you'd point at them and say something like “that one's a pig!” just to rile him up a little. but not tonight.

not when everything's so quiet and it feels like you're being hypnotized. like looking away would make you miss a shift in them that you definitely wanted to see, like you could look away for a second and the warm blue summer evening in his eyes would disappear into a cold winter night.

but as your own eyes slip shut you realize that maybe it isn't a warm summer evening at all, but instead the universe itself in his eyes. with little colourful specks of stardust——

——but you fall asleep before you can actually come to a conclusion and when you wake up the next day, satoru has his blindfold snugly fixed on his face and all that beautiful vastness is hidden behind it.

#aka gojo satoru's eyes and my deeply unhealthy obsession with them.#like. i feel like if i every got to look into his eyes i would never stop looking.#i'd just be stuck there. staring at them until the end of time.#i don't understand how jjk people see his eyes and don't go crazy over them.#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x gender neutral reader

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theresattrpgforthat · 11 months

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I really enjoy the Technomancers from Shadowrun, especially with the whole innate ability to connect to the wireless Matrix without augmentations and expensive hacking tablet. As fun (for me, not the characters) as it is for technomancers to be the central boogeyman that all the megacorporations are rounding up, it can be a bit disheartening that technomancers are treated like parayas, both in and out of game, with technos existence is basically illegal in the world, and long time wired matrix fans not liking them and the wireless Matrix because of the complex rules and lore in our world.

Do you think you got any games that have something similar to the Technomancers from Shadowrun, especially the ones from the later editions, since technomancers was more of a colloquial term for hackers instead of the mystical cyber wizard hackers.

Also, I'm more looking for hacker vibes with a side of mysticism rather than "Merlin emailed you a Fireball," but if you are feeling cheeky about it, both are good. :3

Theme: Hacking (with Magic!)

Hello friend. I tried to approach this request from a couple of different directions, so I can't guarantee that the following suggestions are exactly what you're looking for. I tried to approach this from both the sci-fantasy and cyberpunk routes. I hope that there's something in this collection that you can pick up and play around with!

Into the Glowlands, by Laika Small Press.

Into the Glowlands is a game of expeditions and delving in the Glowlands, the hellish tundra of a fallen world. Wielding blades, spells and half-understood technology, venture into the freezing wastes and see what treasures you can return with, while surviving the cold, radiation and the eternal war of the Glowlands' murderous machine armies.

Into the Glowlands combines a quick roll resolution system based on combining your character's Aspects, in an entirely new d20-based dice engine called the Aspect Engine. This is designed to allow players and GMs to play an in intuitive and smooth way, with quick tactical combat and deep character customisation. It is a post-apocalyptic, science fantasy strategy RPG for fans of Ironsworn, Best Left Buried, Horizon: Zero Dawn and Lancer.

Into the Glowlands harks to many recognizable tropes within high fantasy, but re-contextualizes them in a technological post-apocalypse. Judging by the SRD, it looks like magic is available to all characters, regardless of what class you take. There’s a class called the Holographist, which cam create illusions using a substance that exists within most bodies, and there’s also a Technologist, which wields technology and magic together - and has access to something called technomancy. This looks to be a special class of spells. If you like tactical games about combat and strategy, Into The Glowlands might be your cup of tea.

199X: INFEST, by Thursday Garreau.

In the year 199X, the Z-TEK Industrial/Habitation District was walled off from the outside world - apparently a terrible nuclear accident with complete fatalities, swiftly forgotten. The truth is far stranger: a malign cult tore a breach between our world and the home dimension of the psychic parasites they revere, prompting the use of an experimental atomic weapon and a total quarantine of all survivors. Life endures in RAD ZONE 1… but those that rise above the ashes may be something more than human.

This is a future where megabytes are precious and lives are cheap.

199X: INFEST is an apocalyptic cyberpunk microgame using Jason Tocci's 24XX system. You play as mercenaries and scavengers within Rad Zone 1, tackling Jobs with your wits, salvaged technology mutant Twists, and psychic Powers. Clash against corporate kill-teams raiding the quarantine zone, hateful zealots on a petty crusade, vicious bandit warlords, and the cultists of phantasmal alien Bugs.

INFEST is more about a post-apocalyptic dystopia then it is specifically about hacking, but it has a character option called Relay, which gives you the ability to talk to machines. 24XX games are pretty lightweight, so don’t expect a lot of complexity in terms of how this plays out - your basically get a bit of a better chance into getting machines to do what you want, while other characters are turning invisible or zapping the technology around them. You might be able to combine the options in INFEST with the character options in its sister game, 199X: SHUTDOWN, which is created by the same author and meant to be combined with their other 199X games. SHUTDOWN has a Phreaker character option that improves your hacking - although most of the loot you’d be interested in needs to be connected in some way.

Cryptomancer, by Land_of_NOP.

Cryptomancer is a tabletop role-playing game made for hackers, by hackers. It features an original fantasy setting and gameplay informed by diverse security disciplines. Players assume the role of characters on the run from a shadowy organization that rules the world through mass surveillance, propaganda, and political coercion.

This is a game in which a fantastical world has its own version of the internet, and the methods your characters use to maintain secrecy and privacy are allegorical to the ways you can keep yourself safe on the internet in real life. Designed by hackers, this game was designed to educate even the non-internet-literate about internet safety. In terms of the lore, the ability to connect to each-other through the Shardscape does require shard-gems, but any character can use these gems. This is a fresh new take on both fantasy and technology, and I think it definitely merits checking out!

SYZYGY, by Ostrichmonkey Games. (@ostrichmonkey-games)

SYZYGY is a rules-light role playing game where players take on the roles of wandering, exploring, Mendicants in a vibrant science fantasy world.

This is a two-page ashcan of weird science fantasy, that makes tech akin to magic in many ways. All of the characters will have some ability to channel, which gives them access to the artifacts and energy that pass for technology in this setting. The designer cites Destiny, Nausicaa, and Hyper Light Drifter as inspirations for this one. I like that having access to channelling isn’t reserved for a specific character here - all of your characters have the ability to do it, it’s just a question of what they’re using their abilities for. There’s also something called The Strange - paracausal energy, ancient technological ruins, god-machines - all of which can change the landscape and the stakes for your characters.

If you want a light toolbox to play around with, I recommend checking out SYZYGY.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #dnd #game recommendations #asks #technomancy

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lamemaster · 5 months

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The Beer Slayer

Request: Could you do Glorfindel for the what the hell is happening event? All the situations your writing for feel so refreshing and I quite like your writing by the way!

Pairing: Glorfindel x Reader

Genre: College au

AN: Thanks for requesting!! I am glad you like my writing. (What in the Hell is Happening Event)

A throbbing headache assaulted Glorfindel the moment he woke up. The world swam before his eyes, and the remnants of last night's festivities threatened to erupt from his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut, desperately trying to piece together the fragmented memories of the previous evening.

There was the pub, of course, celebrating the end of a particularly grueling exam week. And then… there was you. Laughter, shared stories, a warmth that spread through him that had nothing to do with the ale. He vaguely recalled kissing you, the memory sending a jolt through him.

A gentle shake on the shoulder startled him from his reverie. He squinted open his eyes to see your glorious form silhouetted against the window. You were dressed in something ridiculously impractical – thigh-high boots? In your dorm room? Or were you in his room? His brain, still sluggish from the hangover, couldn't quite grasp the logic.

"We have Anth 364 in 15 and I am not driving you there," you declared, your voice laced with amusement. You zipped up those ridiculous boots, the sound strangely hypnotic. A frown creased your brow as you leaned closer. "Glorfindel, can you hear me? Wake up!"

The warmth of your breath tickled his ear, and Glorfindel's heart hammered against his ribs. He was this close to you, close enough to feel the heat radiating from your body. His traitorous lips twitched, the memory of your almost-kiss. But then you spoke again, your voice laced with a familiar authority that snapped him back to reality.

"Get dressed, our group needs to present this week." There you were, his group leader – the one person who could turn from a pleasurable fantasy into a focused, albeit slightly grouchy, leader. He forced a smile, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders.

That's how you both met. A silly group project for a gen-ed that every single one of your group members made a point to whine about. And, you, the biochem major somehow found yourself leading a pack of finance students who operated on "good vibes only" logic. You were a force of nature in that class, a try-hard who wouldn't hesitate to pull an all-nighter or two to get an A.

He loved you, the minute you self-designated yourself as the leader in that class full of idgafs. There was something undeniably attractive about your determination, the way your brow furrowed in concentration and your eyes sparkled with a competitive fire.

Glorfindel would not have believed last night to be true if not for your presence in his room. How he had ended up belting out karaoke with you, the picture of drunken abandon, was a complete mystery. And the even bigger mystery was how you, the ever-responsible leader, had somehow ended up at his favorite bar at the exact right time. Perhaps it was fate, or maybe it was just the cheap beer specials.

"Right," he mumbled, scrambling out of bed. "Presentation… yes, of course. Wouldn't want to let the team down, would we?" He avoided your gaze, a blush creeping up his neck. The group presentation suddenly felt like a monumental task, a distraction he desperately needed from the confusing feelings you stirred within him.

But as he stole a glance at you, his heart skipped a beat. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to this biochem brainiac than he initially thought. And maybe, just maybe, last night wasn't a fluke.

He for once couldn't find himself to skip a single class with you in it. The looming specter of the semester ending sent a shiver down his spine. The thought of diverging paths, of your focused gaze no longer seeking his across the lecture hall, was unbearable. He had to do something, anything, to keep you in his life.

And so, dragging his glorious nude self from the bed, Glorfindel dressed faster than light. Following you, to get the ride that you never offered. “Wait for me!” He called after you, knowing full well that a ride in your well loved Honda Civic was not to be missed.

#the silmarillion #silmarillion x reader #glorfindel x reader #what in the hell is happening event #no finance majors were harmed in the making of this fic

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bidonica · 9 months

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👀

This is a sketch for a fanwork exchange that I put aside once I read the request a second time, oops! I might still pick it back up because I love this scene (Brienne unknowingly seeing Sandor at the Quiet isle)

Bonus: fic wip snippet from an abandoned, long-ish fic about Larys Strong’s childhood and my Alys headcanons I was writing last spring but that I lost the inspiration for once info about show!Alys started leaking 🤡 for context, this scene is set at the Harrenhal baths:

“My father knows about you,” Larys says, slowly. “He told me to be wary of you.”

Alys runs her fingers a bit deeper through her brother’s curls. “I bet he thinks I’m my mother come again. That I came here to ask for something.”

“But you did. You asked for a job and for reading lessons.”

“Fair enough. I think that’s not the kind of demand he had in mind, though.” She massages his scalp, gently. It sends a pleasant radiation through Larys’s head and neck. He’s never been touched much. “He doesn’t know I’m also giving you something much more precious than what my mother gave to him. In fact, what she gave him was pretty cheap.”

“You hate her.” Larys tries to imagine hating Lyonel, the way he hates Olyvar and his cronies. But he has no reason to. He thinks then of Lady Delena. They dislike each other, that much he knows, but they both resolved to just avoid being in the same room together as much as possible. As a consequence, his trueborn half-sisters are little more than strangers to him. Alys knows him better than either of them.

Alys’s hand stops moving. “It’s a bit more complicated than that. Let us just say I am different. And I will be different.” Her fingers dig in again. “I am sorry we had a disagreement this past week, Larys mine, I really am. I want to be your friend. I think we can help each other live a better life than what has been designed for us.” She makes a fist in his hair. She doesn’t pull; her grip is still and firm. “But I need you to know. Never, and I mean never, try to abuse me for your entertainment again, you little shit. I will make you pay for it in ways you can’t even imagine.”

She pushes. Just enough for Larys to be unable to move his head, and to let him know she could drown him if she wanted. He reaches up and grasps for her arm, but she is strong from years of manual labor and he is just a skinny child.

“Stop it, Alys! Fuck!”

“Did you understand what I said?” She says, flatly.

“Yes! Let go of me, you fucking—”

“You what?” She pushes him a bit lower. His mouth is at a level with the water.

“Let go of me, sister!”

#wip meme #asoiaf art #sandor clegane #fanfiction #alys rivers #larys strong

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reactor-four-official · 1 year

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Principles of the RBMK Reactor

The RBMK-1000 Boiling Water Reactor is a Soviet-designed nuclear reactor capable of generating 1,000 megawatts of electricity. The core of the reactor is a short, wide cylinder. The active zone is contained inside a large metal drum, known as the core shroud. The reactor assembly is supported by a large metal disk known as the Lower Biological Shield. This sits on top of a larger metal cross labeled “Structure S”. On top of all this rests the 2,000 ton Upper Biological Shield of the reactor, known as "Structure E". The reactor sits in a large reinforced concrete shell which provides structural support and shields plant personnel from radiation.

The core region of the reactor is a large pile of graphite 14.52m × 9.7m. This pile is composed of graphite blocks 25cm by 25cm, with a height of between 20 and 60cm depending on its location in the reactor. Drilled through these blocks is a 11.4cm diameter hole, through which a zirconium alloy tube (known as a ‘technological channel’) is inserted. These contain either a fuel assembly, a control rod, or reactor monitoring equipment. These channels can be opened in situ or removed completely to replace any fuel or equipment inside them. Zirconium is used due to its high melting point and because it allows the neurons that produce the fission reaction in the core to pass through it far easier than other alloys such as stainless steel.

These metal technological channels have water pumped into them from the bottom by the Main Circulation Pumps. The entire reactor vessel is pressurized with a helium-nitrogen mixture, to prevent the oxidization of the graphite. Graphite is flammable in oxygen, but removed from it it can become quite an efficient thermodynamic conductor.

Below: A photo of RBMK technological channels at Chernobyl Unit 2. The length of these gives a good idea as to how massive the core of the RBMK is.

This picture is a screencap from this video.

The fuel of an RBMK is small uranium oxide pellets, stacked into small metal pipes and bundled together into fuel assemblies. Uranium oxide is a ceramic material composed of Uranium 235. This element, under special conditions, can create a nuclear chain reaction which generates heat. The RBMK has three primary components that help create these special conditions to create the controlled fission reactions in the core. These are graphite, water, and boron.

Graphite is used in the core of an RBMK as a moderator. Basically, it slows down the neutrons discarded by U-236 atoms (a U 235 atom which a neutron has collided with) when they split apart. When they are released they are travelling at a tremendous speed, and have very little chance of coming into contact with another atom of uranium. Slowing them down, however, creates a higher chance of the neutrons coming into contact with an atom of U-235, creating the unstable U-236 and then pulling itself apart, thereby creating more neutrons (as well as several other elements) and sustaining a nuclear chain reaction. This sustained reaction is what creates the heat in the core of a nuclear reactor. The more neutrons there are in the core, the more reactivity (and therefore heat) is created. It should be noted that graphite is combustible at high temperatures. The core contained 1,700 tons of graphite.

Water in the core of an RBMK serves as a coolant. Because the core of a nuclear reactor gets extremely hot, it becomes necessary to cool its components if you wish to avoid destructive melting within the core region. Water is the most common coolant in nuclear reactors, as it is cheap and abundant. The water is pumped in under high pressure at about 265 C by the Main Circulation Pumps from the bottom of the reactor up into the technological channels containing the fuel and other components of the reactor. After passing through the channels and heating up to about 284 C, the water is piped out of the top of the reactor. Some of the coolant water heats up so much that it forms into steam bubbles inside the reactor. When the water is pumped out of the core it is then sent into four steam separator drums, where the steam is separated from the water. The water is then pumped back into the reactor, while the steam is sent to the turbine generators of the plant to create electricity. After this, the steam is condensed back into water using cool water from the plant cooling pond and recirculated into the cooling system.

Below: A model showing the circulation system of an RBMK-1000 reactor. Coolant water is in blue and hot water/steam is in red. The yellow structures are the main cooling pumps, and the green structures are steam turbines. This model is spatially to scale, essentially what you would see if you removed every part of the reactor except for the coolant circuit.

Some of the channels in the RBMK contain control rods (large boron carbide rods) that move up and down in the channel as necessary to keep the reactor within operational limits. Boron is a neutron sponge. It absorbs neutrons and can effectively eliminate a chain reaction. It functions as the brakes on a human made nuclear reaction, useful both in making sure a chain reaction does not become a runaway criticality and also in being the off switch on a nuclear reactor. The RBMK has 211 of these control rods, some of which are under operator control and some of which are under the control of a computer. A design quirk of the RBMK is that at the end of each standard control rod was a 14ft 9in graphite displacer. When a control rod was withdrawn out of the core it left behind a space that would be filled with water, a neutron absorber. Since more water in the core would kill reactivity, the designers of the reactor hung this displacer from the control rods to replace the space left by the control rod with something that would increase reactivity rather than kill it. This was a sound design choice, but it was a major factor in the events of the accident at Chernobyl.

Below: An illustration of the control rod displacers in an RBMK.

Below: A top down view of the channels of an RBMK. You can see the layout of the control rods (green), neutron detectors (blue), shortened control rods inserted from below the reactor (yellow), automatic control rods (red), and the fuel channels (grey). The number on the green, yellow, and red squares are the last recorded insertion depths of control rods in Chernobyl Unit 4 1m 30s before the explosion. Only one is fully inserted.

Below: A cutaway of the RBMK system layout.

Two additional factors also come into play regarding the water. Water is naturally a neutron absorber, albeit a far less effective one than boron. The more water in the core, the less neutrons are present and therefore the lower the reactivity. However, when transformed into steam, water loses nearly all of its neutron absorbing properties. The more steam in the core, the higher reactivity is. This is called a ‘positive void coefficient’, and it was a known quirk of the RBMK and indeed several other reactor designs. However, the RBMK had a much higher level of this effect in its core due to its design. This is important to the accident sequence.

It is also important to note that the RBMK is an enormous construction. It is temperamental, unstable unless operating at full power, and requires constant monitoring and guidance from its operators. It requires three operators just to run it normally, and it was notoriously difficult to operate. The core region is so large that the equipment used to monitor it could not accurately read a large portion of it, and hotspots of reactivity would often form resulting in alarming and unexplained jumps in power output and temperature. While in theory not a bad design, the RBMK was a deeply flawed machine.

An enormous thank you is owed to @nicotinebeige , who was extremely helpful in the creation of this post. If you like film photography, you should check out their blog!

This is a technical explanation of the RBMK design. For a history of the RBMK, check out this post. Apologies for any mistakes! I’m most definitely not an expert on nuclear physics, and if anything is unclear you should absolutely check out other sources for more info. As always, thank you for your interest!

#chernobyl #nuclear reactor #history #radiation #accidents and disasters #nuclear power #autism #nuclear #reactor #chnpp #rbmk #rbmk 1000

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carriesthewind · 2 years

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I just bought a copy of one of Sandra Lee's Semi-Homemade Cookbook sas a gag gift for my brother for his birthday. Looking through the copy reminded me of why we hated the show so much and felt justified in mocking it. It's wasn't just how much she clearly hated the food she made (she did), or her clear disinterest in cooking (I think her actual interest was just interior design), or her apparent drinking problem (like I don't think she actually has or had a problem? but the framing of the show made it look she did! and that being an alcoholic was fun and flirty and feminine!), or that her recipes often looked terrible (or weren't recipes at all), or even the amount of food she wasted (lots).

It was her clear disdain for the concept of eating pre-made, or partially made, food. A disdain that radiated out from every aspect of her presentation for her (theoretical) target audience.

The show wasn't about how it's ok to eat "ready made" food or use shortcuts in your cooking - it was a show about how to disguise and cover up for using "ready made" food and shortcuts. The barely concealed subtext was that if your family or your "guests" knew your food wasn't 100% homemade, that was a real problem, and you *should* be ashamed of that. Despite the concept, there was no space for exhaustion or disability or poverty or lack of time. The whole conceit of the show was to sell you a way to cover up for those "flaws", to present a perfect shiny facade of effortless and cheerful homemaking.

There's a tendency I see in articles and reviews praising her, that casts any criticism of her as food snobbery. But her show was all about snobbery. Pre-made food, cheap food, quick food, easy food - it was only acceptable if you could disguise it as something else, make it look pretty and upper-middle class. The show wasn't about helping people without time, money, or training cook cheap and easy meals. It was about teaching people that they need to hide the (shameful! terrible! disdainful!) fact that they didn't have the time, or money, or training to cook gorgeous homemade meals.

...anyway, I'm going to go eat a bowl of canned soup while I toss some french fries in the oven.

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sardonic-the-writer · 2 years

Text

NOTHINGS EVER NORMAL HERE

—word count: 6k+

—playlist: link

—tag list: n/a

—notes: welcome to the ahs: murder house experience. so get your truama under control and strap in. there's not enough trigger warnings in the world for this show. read at your own risk

If they all knew the different fates awaiting them in the self dubbed murder house, maybe they wouldn't have moved in.

A rustic house stood tall in the face of the gloomy streat, it's old foundations staring down at four very tiny looking people in comparison, movers scuttling around them boxes in hand.

Four very tiny people with very tiny time left to live.

Occasionally a worker would bump into one of them from behind, prompting a grunt from the receiving party or a step to the side, an exasperated expression being tossed out more often than not. But other than that no words were spoken. Not out loud.

A girl not much younger than what could have been 16 stood next to another slightly taller figure just a little older in age. Her eyelids were cast in a downward motion underneath a curtain of light blonde hair, giving the impression that she was half asleep when in fact it was more of an unimpressed look.

Another beat of uncomfortable silence.

"A cool looking house where people died and somehow you two still manage to ruin in." Violet finally spoke, eyeing a couch dotted with cheap modern designs as it passed her on a trolly. Most likely being the thing that prompted the sudden commentary.

A momentary giggle made its out of her mouth as she proceeded watched the person next to her get elbowed in the ribs for laughing at her comment, the victim being (Y/n), who shot a venomous look towards their parents at the action.

"Vi's not wrong you know." They stuffed one of their hands in their pants pocket, the other going out to wrap around their younger sisters shoulders with a shrug. "Dad cheats on you mom, and you move us all out here as if that'll fix the fact he fucked someone who was probably being babysat by the time you were graduating highschool. In your own bed nonetheless. Kind of a lame way to ruin this sweet house you know."

Any outsider in the family would recognize the look of hurt and grossly underestimated anger radiating from the people they spoke to—that being a lady with soft red hair and a tall man with a handsomely chiseled face. With the way that they stood stiffly next to each other it wouldn't take a genius to see that once they may have been close, lovers even, before a rift.

"Call me a brat or rude or whatever you want." They said with yet another shrug, pulling Violet closer to them. "But that won't change the fact you screwed up big time dad. And now your probably gonna screw up in this house too."

"I thought we agreed to at least try and be civil with each other during the move. Me and your mother are trying to work things out and the one thing we do not need right now are you two running your mouths any more than usual." A deep authoritative looked crossed over the face of the man (Y/n) and Violet had the honor of calling father, his eyes shooting stern looks between the both of them.

It hadn't always been like this. Each of them could tell you of a night not so long ago where family dinners were the highlight of their day, week even. But now those memories had been replaced a scar on an arm, a permanent reminder that mistakes had been made.

"And I thought you agreed to not stick your dick in anyone else when you got on one knee."

"Ben, just stop." The red headed lady sighed, stilling him with a tight grip on his shoulder. Therefore preventing him from taking a step towards his children. Her voice was close to emotionless as she briefly regarded the man next to her. A small call of 'Vivian please—' was tossed her way, being waved off with a sharp exhale of air.

"Why don't you two grab some of your boxes and start unpacking. That way you'll have time to set up each of your seperate rooms the way you want." She spoke to them with a lowered tone. The intent of getting them to leave went unsaid.

The teenagers exchanged looks between each other before collectively setting off to the moving van behind them, leaving behind their parents to argue for the tenth time that week in voices they thought were quiet enough so they wouldn't hear. It was only once they had both picked up their seperate things to waddle into the house and up many sleek wooden staircases with various size cardboard boxes in hand did anyone say anything.

"God I hate them so much."

(Y/n) walked into Violets room with her, still balancing a mountain of heavy containers on their hip as their upset sister threw her things on the floor, a bare bed and some empty shelves being the only thing in what was to become Violets den. But they slid their own boxes down onto the hardwood floor, later choosing to resort in kicking them across the hallway towards the direction of their new room, and chose to entertain her whining with a question of why.

"I don't want to change schools. I dont want to be the weird new kid. And I don't want to be in a different room than you! The only thing good thats come out of this is the stupid house, and they've already started to ruin that too." The younger girl grumbled. She kicked her bed limply frame before flopping back onto the mattress.

"Hold on let's go back to the part where you don't want to have your own room. Some part of me recalls all the times you begged mom to have your own place at the old house." (Y/n) said with a toothy grin, laughing as Violet stretched out on the bed to playfully hit them.

"Yeah but at this point I'd put up with your horrible music taste and chip crumbs over anything that had to do with them." She made sure to anunciate her point as she jabbed a hard thumb at the window leading to an outside veiw of the front yard. Probably where Ben and Vivian were still arguing.

(Y/n) squinted their eyes in a fake offended manor, beginning the process of exiting Violets room at the excuse of being wounded by her harsh words.

"Smashing Pumpkins and barbecue chips happen to be my spirit animal thank you very much."

"Chips aren't even an animal asshole!"

Violet just received a cheerful middle finger, the two smiling as their veiw of each other faded from sight.

It was hours later when they had finally decided to start unpacking.

The sky was noticeably darker outside of the one window in their room, noting the passing of time. (Y/n)'s parents had only stopped by their room once since the little incident on the lawn, each alone, to check in that they were at least still in the house. The conversations didn't last very long to say the least. And from the very short bouts of audible mumbling coming from the wall in which Violets room connected to theirs, she had the same experience.

The first couple of boxes had only begun to unpack once the sound of a record needle dropped onto a shiny black disc.

The gray record player had been a gift from a couple Christmas' ago, the item quickly climbing its way to the top of (Y/n)'s most prized possessions. While Violet had later received an iPod and matching speaker set to go with it, they had always preferred the faint scratching of a needle as the music began to play. Records of both older and more modern bands were attached to the hip of the machine, the collection one worthy of gawking at. They would have to remind themself look for a record shop in town later.

Not everyone always liked their music taste though.

"Got any Cobain?"

(Y/n) momentarily fumbled the lampshade they were holding, heart feeling like someone had just slammed it inbetween a car door. They only regained their grip on the cloth covered item as they whirled around with their arm extended as if ready to throw a pitch.

And we're faced with a total stranger.

He had a mop of the dirtiest blond hair they had ever seen on someone, somehow curly and straight at the same time. Steely gray eyes fixed their gaze dead center on them, the swirling color reminding (Y/n) briefly of the way a storm at sea could rip a five ton ship in half before someone could even finish brushing their teeth.

He wore jeans and a green and black striped sweater, the horizontical pattern and his broad grin bringing the name Cheshire Cat to mind.

"Who the hell are you and how did you get in my house. Answer or I'll yell."

He seemed very unthreated by the threat of a lampshade being pointed at him.

"Got any Cobain?" He repeated with a calm tone, smile unwavering and eyes calm.

(Y/n) spared a quick look at their still playing record. The song was something cheery. Light. It contrasted with the strange atmosphere currently bottling up in the room.

"I do." They curtly responded. Nothing more.

"You can relax. Don't worry, I live next door." He chuckled. It was as every bit amused as the rest of him. It made (Y/n)'s brows furrow in annoyance.

"Being my supposed neighbor doesn't explain why you're inside my house. And my room. I could charge you for breaking and entering." It was meant to sound grown up; promising. They had the feeling however that he wouldn't really care.

"You could." He shrugged, lips turning downward to show he entertained the thought.

(Y/n) wanted to throw something at him, preferably heavy and metal, and lock the door on him. They weren't buying this whole next door neighbor shit. That's how people got killed. Dumb people.

But then again say he really was their neighbor. They'd probably feel terrible later. Not too terrible, concidering the way he was acting and exactly how he had managed to get inside their house unnoticed, but still pretty bad.

And Violet was just next door. They didn't want to lock him out there with her. They didn't even like entertaining that idea.

"Look, is there a point to you being here besides trying to scare the shit out of some people you don't even know. Because if not, I'd rather you and the sweater your granny knit for you hightail it out of here."

They turned to continue unpacking things after what they hoped was knocking the boys ego down a few pegs. (Y/n) avoided pulling out any what could be embarassing items from the boxes in the process, for they would be damned before they let this weirdo see the stuffed animal they've had since they were five.

"I just wanted to see new doctor next door and his family before any other of the neighborhood weirdos snatched you up." He shrugged—seemingly a repetitive motion of his as much as it was (Y/n)'s—eyes free to roam over then in an observatory manor while their back was turned. "You just happened to be the first person I ran into."

"How sweet." They snorted, rolling their eyes. Preoccupied by showing off a bitchy front, the mention of their dad's profession went straight over their head.

Something the blond boy behind them smiled at.

"What? Would you have rather I ran into someone else first?" The smile in the nameless boys tone was prominent. (Y/n)'s face felt the strange urge to light up, embarrassed that they didn't understand the joke he was making at their expense.

Instead they took a breath, eyes begining to set in a blank and hopefully unbothered stare. They slammed the lid shut on one of the boxes they had been unpacking, only to start speaking without even turning to look at the person behind them. Being a passive agressive bitch could be their favorite past time after all.

"Now let me take a guess here. You're a pretentious bastard who's father probably left them becuase they listened to their rock music too loud one night. And ever since then you've, what, been trying to over compensate for something with that smart ass mouth while breaking into people houses?"

"And let me guess. You're a nobody who's favorite color has been something dark since they learned what sounding edgy got them, pretending to like being mellow and laid back when in reality all you are is an attention whore." A voice ran back like a vocal mirror, tone entertained.

"Tacky, low, and sort of accurate. Touche, creep. Now get out of my room."

He just laughed from behind. A sort of layered laugh, buried with so many emotions and unspoken words that it was hard to get a read on it.

The laugh went on for a bit longer than it should have.

Creepy.

"You're fun." He grinned, playing with one of the random trinkets (Y/n) had set on a table. A fixed gaze was pinpointed on the back of their head, unmoving. "Not like the others."

"Oh wow. Would you look at that. My self esteem just rocketed through the roof at your very sincere words. Many thanks to you, stranger that broke into my house to promptly insult me."

"To be fair the back door was unlocked, and you started it first."

What was this. A kindergarten fight?

They closed their eyes for a moment, turning to face him with a conveintly located heavy book from a moving box in hand.

"Listen pal—"

"Oh so we're pals now? Kind of forward for someone you just met I think."

"—I'd love nothing more than to wipe that sick smile off your face, preferably with the hardcover of this novel, but I don't think I'd exactly be able to read it again knowing it touched your face. So get out asshole."

His smile strained against the fabric of sincerity, placing down the item in his hands back on the shelf it originated from. It was if he hadnt liked something they said, and it didnt seem to be the overall threat of a dictionary slap. But the change in expression went as fast as it had come, the boy now holding his hands up in mock surrender.

"You're the boss, grouchy. I have to go anyways. Stuff to do and all that. See you soon, neighbor."

They didn't grace him with an answer, grunting lowly and lowering the thick dictionary. Their eyes didn't once leave him as he walked slowly out of the room.

He paused by their door momentarily.

"Your sisters pretty cute by the way."

And then he was gone. The only memorabilia from the visit being the shine of his dark eyes.

Like a ghost.

They frowned.

Nothing interesting happened for the next few days.

Life went on as normal as it could for a family such as theirs; dealing with adultery, two teenage kids, and a new house that is. But things had settled pretty quickly despite everything, a hushed routine falling over each of the individual house members. Even Doctor Harmon had continued his profession of counseling people from home after his office had been arranged to his liking. Of course, he had made sure to make it clear that no one was to interrupted his sessions. He made that very, very clear.

Perhaps the most important—or most interesting—thing to note was (Y/n) hadn't seen that strange guy since their last encounter with him. They still werent sure whether to feel happy or worried about that.

A conversation with Violet later in the day had revealed that she hadn't in fact had the same experience. If it werent for the knowladge that (Y/n) wouldn't just stright up lie to them about this, she would have waved it off and claimed they were pranking her.

The lack of interacrion between her and the boy prompted the question in (Y/n)s mind of how he knew what Violet looked like then, and how she was co called "cute".

But they didn't mention that.

One good thing that come out of all of it was that it didnt feel strange or unusual that (Y/n) had been thinking about him more than the average person. He had been a home invader after all. That would hang in someone's thoughts for a good while.

What was strange however was the feeling of being watched. The hairs standing up on their neck at the most random of times, chills running across their body in a tirade of tiny ice cubes. Any concerns they ever thought of making to their parents about this continuing occurance always ended in the same. Chalked up to paranoia or a new house. So nothing was said.

Maybe that's why they had been so keen to get out of their house, despite it being for the first day at a new school.

"Why can't you ever drive us anywhere? Maybe then I wouldnt have to listen to dad lecture me about how late I am getting up in the mornings." Violet asked, shoes scuffing against the concrete of courtyard grounds. Smoke spilled from her nose as it would from a dragon. (Y/n) had to resist the urge to ask for a drag.

"Me? Drive dad's precious car anywhere than out the driveway? I think not." They scoffed playfully despite the words being more than true. Violet lightly smiled at that, one hand going up to hold her black hat onto the top of her head as a gust of wind nearly blew it off.

Student after student shouldered their way through the siblings, the two having to swim upstream just to get to the wing of the school that held their first periods.

This was the first place (Y/n) had felt alone. Despite being surrounded by kids with horrible B.O and being flanked by their sister, that faint itchy feeling of being watched was nowhere to be seen. No pun intended. It was very relieving. They hadn't realized how much it had been bothering them these past couple of weeks.

"I'm just saying, it'd be nice to hear something other than how I woke up late once be—"

"Hey!"

Both (Y/n) and Violet stopped at the loud elimination. The shout had obviously been directed in their direction. Evident of the three angry looking girls stomping their way.

"Oh god." Was all (Y/n) heard from Violet mutter before a group of upper class privileged kids were staring down at them from their noses, acting as if someone pissed in their lucky charms this morning. Or whatever wealthy people eat for breakfast. Steak? That seemed accurate enough.

"There's no smoking in school!" The same high voice as before cracked. "Second hand smoke kills you know!" The ringleader of the trio snapped. She had brown hair as straight as a board, and two other friends that looked like carbon copies of herself—save for the different skin colors.

(Y/n) had to resist the urge to cringe and laugh at the same time. It was almost embarrassing how stereotypical these mean girls were. With their designer clothing and posh adittudes it was almost like they had walked straight out of High School Musical and into real life. More embarassing for them than anything. And definitely not worth the time.

"Sorry man. We're both new here, didn't know." The cigarette Violet had snagged from her mom's purse this morning fell to the ground wastefuly as (Y/n) flicked it out of their sisters hand, going to stomp out the dying light. At least before the same skinny brunette slammed her foot down on their own to get to it first.

"Bitch!" They yelped painfully whilst jumping back. Even Violets eyes widened in slight suprise. By now a few people had turned their way, the beginnings of a circle big enough to stay away from the confrontation but small enough to see what was going on forming. (Y/n) had seen enough movies and been in school long enough to know they were all hoping for a fight. They got the feeling this must happen often.

"People sit here! You can't just do that." She snarled with the now slightly crumpled ciggarette in hand, a few strands of brown hair getting coated in spit with the ferocity she used.

"Jeez! What crawled up your ass this morning?" (Y/n) marveled with all their weight temporarily on one foot. Someone whispered back that the confrontational girls grandma had died from cigarettes, to which they were met with a gaze that said 'fuck her grandma and the rude ass bitch she spawned'.

"I'll go throw it away. Could have just asked me, asshole."

"No. I want to see you both eat it."

Silence even from the crowd.

What in the absolute hell—

One of the girls friends tugged on the brunnettes sickeningly tasteful pullover, timidly calling out that they should all just leave now. But their hand was shoved away in favor of repeating what had just been said.

"No. They need to eat it. I'll make them."

(Y/n) pinched tbe bridge of their nose before looking in disbelief at Violet.

From there they didn't really remember what happened—at least that's what they told the principal and their parents. Later in class Violet would think about the way they had practically managed to fend the girl off all on their own, despite being completely taken by suprise. Not everyday someone trys to make you eat a cigarette of the ground after all. She regretted not doing more than spitting on one of the three girls faces though. Maybe then she could have been sent home with (Y/n) instead.

"Lucky." She frowned before picking up a pencil and copying down more algriba notes, can't helping but feel at that moment that math was a torture device straight from hell.

(Y/n) hadn't known much peace since the first day at school.

Neither at home or the educational building. The only benefits of the latter was that the prickling sensation never occurred once; durring class or inbetween. Or really anywhere outside of the house in fact. But at least at home they didn't have to worry about being slapped in the face while eating a pb and j for lunch.

Even Violet had started jumping into fights more often, painting a target on both of their backs. Not like the both of them really cared beyond some bloody cuts. At least when they went home now they would be sporting matching bruises.

Ben and Vivian were less than happy with this new revelation. The two were still in this awkward entanglement of the process of forgiveness and anger, so coming home to both of their kids looking like they had been pelted with rocks was something no one needed. Often they threatened, or in Vivians cade offered, to have them moved to a different school. But that was quickly shot down, Violet claiming she wasn't going to run anymore. (Y/n) had simply shrugged when asked why they wanted to stay, saying if Violet wasn't moving, then she wasn't either.

I suppose the failing parents could have found some sort of comfort in knowing their problems were outshines by the companionship of their own children, but the pair of cloudy minded adults continued to crash and burn all the same. (Y/n) wouldn't be surprised if she came down the stairs one night to get some water only to find Ben sleeping on the couch. He did deserve it after all. From the snippets of arguments they had heard right after the cheating scandle had come out, he had pulled some dick moves. Litteraly.

Maybe that's why they didn't feel any guilt when their feet carried them into his unlocked office one day.

It was a rather unfortunate event to leave your works glass double doors unlocked while out getting groceries, especially when you have a child such as (Y/n) who often found themself in places as if by some force of will. Like their feet had just been on autopilot. People called it snooping. They called it subconscious curiosity. Often it ended up in Vivian or someone else vigorously apologizing for them walking into the back of a store or something.

Perhaps it was this subconscious curiosity that led them to looking through random bookshelves, skimming over pages about psychology and counseling before eventually placing them back. It wasn't untill their fingers had closed around a new type of textured paper did that autopilot mode switch off.

A manilla folder was found weighing heavily in their hands, having been wedged between more college textbooks on the wonders of the human mind. It had probably been placed there on accident more than likely, but that was the last thing on their mind as they flipped the thing open.

Skipping past pages of notes in their dad's handwriting, they stopped on the last page. A personal profile and picture of the person this folder was all about. Contact info, a genericnphone number, and random adress were written. All things they skimmed past. Then they had no desire to delve into a strangers adress or problems. It felt immoral to do that.

Later they wished they would have.

Wind lapped at their legs as the folder suddenly landed on the carpet below with a dulled thump. Their fingers had slackened on the thick office object just enough for it to flutter to the grounds.

(Y/n)'s eyes had grown to the size of a silver dollar at the sight of a picture frowing up at them. The slight of the person's haunting eyes all too familiar.

A pair of dangerous gray pupils had gazed back at them, saying more than anyone ever could with their voice.

"Dad treats the Tate Langdon?"

Vivian meerly let out a curious hum in response, eyes never leaving the dragon fruit she was preparing as a snack (probably against Moria's wishes, a house maid that had just randomly popped up one day. Just like everything else in this place, she was weird. (Y/n) often had a hard time telling if she was a sweet elderly woman, or a young adult hellbent on wearing the most lowcut uniform.)

"Tate Langdon. That's his name." (Y/n) walked deeper into the room, hands stuffed deep in their pockets. They had promptly walked out of Doctor Harmons office upon seeing that file, accompanied with the name Tate Langdon in big, black letters. Their feet had taken up that strange habit of wandering places where they were most or least needed; probably due to a combination of shock and thirst for answers. Answers it was best to not go asking Ben about.

"He's supposed to be our next door neighbor. Weird as shit. Just showed up in my room uninvited a few days ago." They elaborated, trying to stay as casual as possible. Reaching out to grab at the fruit being prepared, all they got was a slap on the wrist and stern look for cussing via mother.

"Sounds peculiar. Apparently our neighbors have a habit of being like that." Vivian continued. (Y/n) made the brief connection between the mention of an offputting lady and her daughter showing up the other day as renovations were being done. Must have been more neighbors. "I'm sure he just wanted to say hi."

Another downwards slice of the kitchen knife.

"And you know I don't ask about your dad's patients (Y/n). It's none of my business who he helps." She said. The comment was so matter of fact it was almost annoying.

"Right. Because you and dad still talk to each other." The youngest one in the room deadpanned.

"You know what I mean." Vivian sighed. The light had hit her face in such a way just then, making her seem ten years older than she was. It had been like this ever since the scandle. (Y/n) had been noticing more of that a lot lately.

"I'm just saying. You know that dad only sees the people that no one else wants to deal with. And not for a good reason. Now this Tate guy knows where we live. You dont think that's spooky?"

"A lot of things can be spooky." Came the short response.

"But come on you have to admit—"

"(Y/n) I don't even know why I'm discussing this with you." Vivian threw the knife down, frustrated. "Either you can come help me make some food for tonight, or go back to whatever you were doing before. Preferably out of the confines of that office. I don't have time to entertain every single worry you have!"

They blinked.

"Look hun. Me and your dad are going through a tough time with this move and councling. Would it kill you to show some sympathy for us instead of causing another scene like you did on the lawn the other day?"

(Y/n) wanted to respond with sarcasm. Maybe even a smart ass quip. You don't think I know? They wanted to hiss. That you and dad can't stand to keep doing this? You think I don't know how upset everyone is? None of that gives you an excuse to keep treating me and Violet like temporary distractions.

But nothing came out. Nothing other than the sound of steady breathing.

So thank god for Moira, no matter how creepy she was.

"I do hope I'm not interrupting something."

(Y/n) just shook her head with a small no to answer the maid that had appeared from think air, eyes peeling off Vivian as they headed for the one spot they and Violet had been frequenting the most lately. The confused expression of Moira when they passed was noticed and filed away to be ignored as a beeline was made for the basement.

A corner with some glossy magazines (Vivians doing) and candy bar wrappers ( (Y/n)s doing, but a team effort in the consumption) were the only real signs of life down in the basement. Aside from the one or two spiders and centipede that would have to be squished under a shoe to cease Violets occasional shreik, nothing moved down here.

It was a perfect place to be alone.

Clearing off a spot of dust on the floor, (Y/n) sat down criss cross to sink their head in the confines of their hands.

They never cried. But sometimes they got pretty close to it.

This house could be too much sometimes. Was too much. Everything had been to much ever since packing up all their belongings plus the kitchen sink and moving, but especially this godamn house and that goddamn feeling of being watched.

In an almost laughably ironic way, that feeling quadrupled anytime they sat in the basement. It was crushing. But it was crushing the way a weighted blanket might be. If they were going to feel paranoid all the time they might as well try to get a little comfortable with some exposure.

"Your sister has some blades stashed away if you want to cut yourself."

And there he was. Back in the house as if he owned the place, staring into (Y/n)'s mind with a concealed smile.

"It's rude to stare you know." They mumbled up at Tate from the dust covered floor. Encaptivated almost as they watched his feet swing back and forth idily off the stairs beneath him.

"Doesn't stop you."

It took (Y/n) a moment to prosess much else. Their brain already felt like mush, and the added presence of him felt like a short circut waiting to happen.

"Wait did you say cut myself?" They bewildered. "With razors Vi has?:

"Yeah." Tate shrugged. "Might make you feel better. Always does for us."

Us.

Oh Violet..

"Stay the fuck away from my sister Langdon."

"What? Jealous or something?" He said with a smile, not at all thrown by the sudden curveball of his last name.

"No. I'm not."

And it was true. They weren't jealous. They didn't even want to be talking to him themself.

"You know I think we got off on the wrong foot." Tate mused. (Y/n) shot him a look that feigned confusion. "And I'd like to try and get to know you better."

"My dad treats you. I'm not dumb Tate. I know he only helps people who are really fucking messed up."

"Am I?"

"Are you."

Tates eyes flashed.

This is what he liked from them. The silent battle of wits. It was honestly amusing how much they liked to think they knew. That they had him all figured out as this annoying next door physcopath neighbor.

It was almost laughable.

"Look. I'll cut you a deal." (Y/n) exhaled. They had come down here for some space and quiet but ended up in this position. And now they just wanted him gone; more than usual.

"Stop showing up in my room uninvited and I'll concider letting you to get to know me better." They paused midway to mumble something amongst the lines of 'even against my better judgment'. "I have a feeling this deal won't keep yoy away from Violet though. So just watch yourself Tate."

"You've already got me all figured out huh Harmon?" He grinned. "But a deals a deal. Scouts honor." He raised a hand and placed the over other his heart stiffly, doing nothing to convince (Y/n).

"Right. Now get out of our basement. Please." They added onto the end just to try and negotiate a little bit of peace. But it was a more so just a soft-ish demand for him to leave them alone at that point.

"Is every meeting of ours going to end with you banishing me from your house?" Tate asked with a grunt while begening to hoist himself up carefully.

"Depends. Do you want it to?"

He didn't answer.

#ahs muder house x reader #ahs #ahsmh x reader #ahs x reader #ahs murder house #american horror story muder house x reader #american horror story x reader #tate x reader #tate langdon x reader #tate langdon #tate #tate ahs #x reader #one shot

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solsticevanfleet · 2 years

Text

strawberry vines; s.f.k.

chapter one

Pairing: Sam & female!Reader

Word Count: 2.2k

Summary: You had always been passionate about music and marketing, so when your final capstone university project is to create an exhibit with a specific muse, your chance encounter with a small local band leads you to an epiphany for the showcase. You never meant to mix work with play.

WARNINGS: Mild swearing, alcohol mention.

Notes: Hi guys! This is my first time posting fanfic for this fandom and I’m kinda nervous lol. This is an intro chapter to what will become a series. I hope y’all enjoy this plot layout, please let me know what you think! My asks are always open to comments, concerns, and suggestions!

It had always been cold in Clark, but never like it was today. You always brought an extra sweatshirt (sometimes a blanket) in the winter, but today it was nice outside, so you didn’t think too hard about it when you showed up in a flannel. The wind outside was warm, a nice 76 degrees that felt like a Californian beach-side haven compared to the 59-degree library. Courses had begun a week ago and being a senior, graduation could not come faster, though you were pleasantly surprised when the senior advisor offered a new capstone course. Opting for what felt like the ‘easier’ option, you decided to capstone in “American Magazines” rather than write a 25-page paper in some nondescript writing seminar. All magazines are is journalism of some sort… and it fits almost too perfectly considering your little hobby blog kickstarted pretty well this concert season.

It started as a way to get your writing out, a way to combine your love of music with your dream of working in music management and social media. Snippets of concert reviews and novice photos taken on your cheap Nikon camera were littered throughout the blog, as well as album reviews and interviews with amateur bands and musicians. A blog is basically an online magazine, right? You sat down in the surprisingly comfy library chair and skimmed the class’ syllabus, “END OF YEAR EXHIBIT” was displayed in bold caps and seemed to be the assignment of the year: an exhibit dedicated to the subject of your choice, paired with a homemade zine to be handed out to spectators at the show.

Subject of your choice… you wracked your mind, flipping through the mental trading card binders of the musicians you’d worked with in the past, you were sure one of them would be up to the idea of being this semester’s muse.

•

Lecture hall never got better, no matter the course or the people around you. But why would it? It was a lecture hall, but at least your professor seemed nice. Dr. Richards was an older eccentric man who wore his gray hair in a slicked back ponytail. He looked as if he was meant to teach in the fashion department and not in communications, but it made sense as he explained his requirements for the class. After going over the bulk of the syllabus, he went over the end-of-year exhibit in finer detail. It was meant to be a multimedia project where students needed to tie in their overall career goals with, something that reflected what the student had learned in the course as well as their own personality and aspirations. You smiled slightly to yourself, excited about the creative liberties you were being given for the project, and the prospect of being able to design your own exhibit for the public. You hadn’t realized that class ended, and you quickly gathered your things as you rushed to get out, not noticing the tall figure gazing toward you. You looked up and came face to face with your TA for the class.

“Hey, I’m Danny, I noticed you were kinda zoned out for a moment there and wanted to check in,” he chuckled lightheartedly. His hair was done up in what looked like a turquoise claw clip, his curly bangs and front pieces tousled and frizzy. He radiated what could only be described as pure joy, as if he wanted to help in whatever way he could.

“Oh my god, sorry, I do that sometimes, you know, lost in the mind of an artist or whatever, I’m just wracking my brain trying to think about what to do my exhibit on…” You cringed at yourself, “You know what, just ignore me. I’ve seen you around before, actually.” Danny looked surprised, and you could see the wheels in his head turning until his eyes lit up.

“Wait, yeah! I think we have a few mutual friends, small world UMich is. About your exhibit, do you have any ideas so far?”

“Well, I review local musicians and write about their gigs, usually free ones at bars or restaurants. I was thinking about possibly setting something up with maybe a band of students but I don’t really know where to search for one.” You saw Danny’s eyes light up for the second time.

“It’s funny you say that, I have a band and we perform quite a few times a week at The Garage Bar on Church Street, you know the one right?” You nodded as he spoke, a silent yes to his question. “We’re called ‘Greta Van Fleet’. I don’t think my bandmates would mind you coming in for a few practices or gigs, to be honest, I think Josh would love that. Why don’t I give you my number and we can talk about it more later, I’m running late for practice, actually.”

Danny scribbled his number down on a piece of paper and ripped it out of his notebook, handing it to you with a smile and a nod as he rushed out of the hall. You were alone as you gazed down at his hurried scrawl, who the hell is Josh?

•

Thursday night rolled around and you found yourself staring at the mirror, for the millionth time it seemed, deliberating over your outfit. You didn’t care what you wore, really, but you couldn’t help but feel self-conscious all of a sudden, they wouldn’t scrutinize you, right? They’re just a group of young guys- possibly young? Who were you to know if it wasn’t just your TA and a bunch of grandpas? Or maybe dilfs? Who knows, though you semi-wished for dilfs.

You finally settled on a black mini skirt and a plain orange tee with a jacket thrown on top, something safe but still giving the illusion that you might have gave a fuck about your appearance. As you walked out into the brisk autumn air, you shivered and pulled the jacket closer to you, berating yourself for not dressing warmer. It wasn’t too long before you showed up at the address Danny had sent to you a couple of hours prior, accompanied by a few dancing emojis – he was a frequent user of emojis, you had discovered, with the few texts you two had exchanged. You weren’t expecting google maps to take you to a house, maybe a bar or a practice hall of some sort, but it looked like your typical college-aged boys home. Fairy lights which were strung haphazardly over the porch, lawn chairs on the patio, and a turned-over welcome mat greeted you as you rang the doorbell. You could hear the plucking of off-key guitar strings and chatter coming from behind the door, which only heightened your anxiety about this whole evening. You brought along your laptop and camera, hoping maybe to get some off-the-clock practice shots if the band agreed to work with you on the project.

The door suddenly opened and jarred you from your thoughts, a flash of warm light came from inside the house and a curly mop now stood in front of you. Attached to the mess of curls was a bright white smile belonging to a handsome young guy; he couldn’t have been much older than you, 3 years at most.

“Welcome, welcome! You don’t have to stand outside, come in and make yourself at home. We have beer and seltzer in the fridge if you want, or apple juice,” The guy blabbed, ushering you inside the foyer leading into the kitchen and living room.

“Don’t be a dick, she doesn’t want apple juice.” The voice came from beyond the door frame, yelling almost as it berated the man in front of you. As you opened your mouth to speak, almost the exact same motherfucker walked out of the kitchen, “Sorry about Josh, he can be a bit overbearing.”

They had the same look, though this one had long wavy locks and his presence was not as bold, yet he shined as he entered the room. “I’m Jake, and this one is Josh, obviously, I assume youre the girl Danny’s mentioned.” You instantly felt at home, with the yin and yang nature of their contrasting personalities, and you nodded as you looked between the twins.

Josh knocked the back of his hand into Jake’s shoulder, “Lighten up, will ya?”, he turned back to face you. “Let’s go, Danny and Sam are downstairs tuning. Did you need a drink or anything ‘fore we go?”

“Honestly I’m okay, thank you for asking though. Do you have anywhere I could plug in my charger, though?”

“Yeah, just follow me.”

You made your way down the narrow staircase into what felt like a make-shift man cave of sorts, traffic signs, and rock ‘n’ roll memorabilia coated the walls as you entered the dimly lit basement. It smelled of incense, alcohol, and a hint of cologne as the boys ahead of you went straight for their bandmates. There sat Danny, and who you could only assume was Sam. He was hunched over what you thought was a guitar, only it was a light blue, almost green color, something you didn’t usually see. He had long brown hair, brushing his shoulders and wrapped like a halo around his face as his eyes were focused on the strings and his plush lips were mumbling something quietly, too quiet to hear. He seemed to be closest to your age, maybe a bit older, but nothing too crazy. Jake gestured you to the couch, where the outlet was sat directly next to, and you took a seat next to him.

“Nice guitar, I love the color,” you uttered loudly, loud enough to get his attention. He was the only one who hadn’t immediately perked up at your presence, even Danny had greeted you so welcomingly, now occupied with the brothers. This one was seemingly too entranced by the sounds coming out of his instrument as he tuned the strings. At the sound of your voice, he slowly looked up, and you could see he had large, downturned chocolate-colored eyes. He smirked gently, one side of his mouth lifting as he scoffed.

“Thanks, but this is a bass. I understand the confusion though, especially since it is customized. Though, it does look almost brown to me... You don’t get much of those out in the wild.” His eyes quickly scanned your appearance, looking for a comment of his own. “Nice… leaves?”

You glanced down confused by his comment on the color but noticed your tattoo peeking out from under your skirt, “Oh, thank you, they’re berry vines, strawberries actually. You don’t get much of those out in the wild, either.” He chuckled as you smiled to yourself, pleased with your quick wit.

“Well, Berry, it’s nice to meet you. Daniel over here has been talking about you coming over for a week now and I think we’re all a little interested in hearing about this little project of yours.”

“Nicknames already?” Danny chimed in, Sam’s head turning to meet the sound of his voice. “We can talk about logistics later, I have class in the morning so let’s get this shit started.”

The boys all made sounds of agreement and got into position as you looked around and decided to sit on a large purple bean bag chair on the floor, near where Jake was messing around with the pedals next to his feet. It was then that Danny counted them in and Josh’s vocals came in, loud, raw, and powerful, something you didn’t expect to come out of such a small man. The combination of Jake’s electric riffs, Danny’s pounding beat, the smooth and sexy bass lines, and Josh’s voice, you were quite frankly surprised and pleased. When Danny had mentioned a band, you had expected an amateur bunch of musicians trying to mesh their different sounds together, but this band was amazing, sounding as if they had been practicing for years and years together; their chemistry was addicting. As they finished off the song, Josh looked over at you for approval, grinning widely with a sparkle in his eyes really only seen in people who were truly passionate and into their craft. Your only reaction was a dropped jaw.

“That was… insane. Like, I’m blown away to be quite honest, you all work so harmoniously together- how? I mean, you’re all so cohesive.”

“I mean, we’ve been playing together since high school, we got a small following back home because of it but there’s always room to practice.” Jake was so genuine with his responses, probably the most level-headed out of the bunch. You nodded, urging them to tell more. He continued, “It’s been a rollercoaster but we’re looking to reach outside of just local bars and lounges.”

Sam chimed in, “Yeah, I’m kind of sick of college.” he flashed you a smirk, which made your cheeks heat, but you ignored the urge to keep eye contact with him. “Well, I would love to work with you guys this semester… I’ve got good social media skills too if you’d like this to branch outside of academics…,” Even asking the question felt embarrassing to ask, but something inside told you to stick around.

The boys looked around at each other, communicating with their eyes, silently agreeing with nods of approval and shrugs before Josh spoke up, “I think we could swing that.”

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tunamayojazz · 1 year

Note

Hi!

38 for Inuokko.

Thanks!

38. Describe their ideal home

Hmm...I think they wouldn't choose to live in the city. Maybe in the outskirts of Tokyo. Not in a condo where they'd have to be close to other humans, maybe somewhere a little isolated and near nature. It would be an issue if they had to share a lift with others while covered in post-mission blood, and Yuta radiates way too much cursed energy anyways 🤭 Their house would be a mix of traditional and modern, with lots of wooden furniture (I know they aren't cheap but by the time they get their own place they can afford it hehe). The house wouldn't be too neat, more like an organized mess? I think if Toge lived alone it could get pretty messy (still nothing crazy) but because Yuta likes it neat he makes sure to put in effort with cleaning up.

The house has lots of warm lighting, and they both made sure the house was as cozy as possible because they really value comfort when it comes to relaxing and sleeping. I think it wasn't something they paid much attention to until they became adults, and they really feel just how important it is to have a cozy place to come home to after a mission. Game time is important to Toge and by extension Yuta, so they have a pretty decked out living room with tons of games, with a large kotatsu infront of the TV. Toge's favorite game is the Splatoon franchise, while Yuta is more of a Animal Crossing kind of guy (Yuta, teary eyes wide in gleeful surprise: "Jun (Marshal) looks just like you babe...". Toge refutes that with a scoff. "Okaka...!") (Coincidentally, Marshal and Toge are both Libras). When Maki and Panda are over, they play Mario Party and Switch Sports (which Maki is obscenely good at. You don't want to challenge her to a round of Chambara).

The kitchen is Toge's territory. He did a lot of research before they built the kitchen, ensuring the design would be sufficient for his style of cooking and also looked into what cooking utensils were recommended. They have a little island/bar that they use for meals like breakfast and dessert. Lunch and dinner is usually at the dining table (it fits up to four people). Yuta's not so interested in cooking or food in general (this is canon actually) but he does like doing it from time to time when it's with his friends. It's quality time spent, too. There are some dessert recipes he has memorized though, only because Toge like them so much (it's pudding most of the time).

I am also a firm believer in Inuokko collects plushies because they're weak to cuteness. There are also really big ones just so they have something to hug when one of them has a mission trip for a couple of days/weeks. I don't think they collect too many books, but they have a shelf for a few precious ones amongst other things like picture frames. Yuta picks up photography in his adult years and their house is littered with them. Visitors (Yuji especially) would spend like a good 30 minutes just ooh aah-ing at their fridge because there are so many polaroids attached to it. And of course, they have a garden! A rather big one too. They both care for it a lot and are actually quite the gardening nerds (and by that I mean they talk about gardening tools a lot while Maki looks on in horror and watch Youtube videos about gardening ideas and tips). They also have a nice table by their garden for when the weather is good and they feel like eating outside. It's not completely exposed, so they enjoy drinking hot tea and snacking there when it's pouring too.

Last but not least, they have pets! Two cats and one dog (I must specify that it is a Border Collie). Yuta will find Toge napping with all of them in the living room more often than not and it's just the best thing ever.

#this was so nice to write aaa i love thinking inuokko thoughts #kinda wrote this as though it's an existing au rather than what i think their ideal home WOULD be like dkjfdskf oops #ottoge #inuokko #inumaki toge #inumaki #okkotsu yuta #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #hc

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ajcgames · 4 months

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Rogues Gallery

Hey, you! It's been a while! What have I been up to, eh?

In short, a lot of time in Blender. There has been a pretty hefty list of things-to-model for the game. Most complex of these have been the machines you can place down in your factory.

But words are easy and talk is cheap, so let's dive right in with an absolute bumper update. Grab some snacks!

A veritable smörgåsbord of tinkertoys!

Let's run through them quickly, shall we?

Running down the left-hand side of the screen shot are the various mergers and splitter variants.

I didn't get too far into developing the game before I realised that having a splitter or merger force the user into one orientation (either left or right) was a terrible idea, and I made sure that both devices have a left and right variant. That should make belt organisation much easier!

Now let's get into the actual machines.

Extractor

The extractor is where it all starts. Feeding raw minerals in from the surface of the asteroid through the input ports. Send them somewhere!

Pulverizer

Mashes up your ores until they're unrecognisable. An essential first step for most ores before they can be processed further.

Analyzer

Science is the currency of the cosmos. Items can be funnelled into this machine to be analyzed, and science data accumulated. Your data can be processed into actual science points, but you'll only get data as good as the quality of the items you're throwing in here!

Collector

A large number-crunching supercomputer with the world's largest heatsink designed for one purpose - processing all that science data!

Recycler

Everyone accumulates a bunch of junk from time to time. Stop your belts from backing up and dump your excess into a recycler. Your waste will be shot into the sun at the earliest convenience!

Packager

Valuable items need to be shipped back to Earth, but you can't just throw a bunch of rocks into a rocket. Get them packaged up neatly in the packager before you send them off for export!

Exporter

The exporter provides you with the means to ship your deliveries back to Earth. Fill the pod with your items and it'll get launched via an electromagnetic delivery system. Hopefully someone will catch it at the other end!

Atomic Coupler

Bombards items with high-energy radiation, known to provoke strange changes in their material properties. With any luck, they'll be much less irradiated by the time they get back home.

Catalyzer

Provides special environmental conditions to change items into different forms. Not the fastest machine, don't let everything get backed up!

Centrifuge

Somebody once decided to spin things really fast in the name of science. The centrifuge gives you the opportunity to do the same for your factory! Toss some items in, spin 'em fast, watch what comes out.

Chemical Lab

Sometimes you just can't get the right items without a little bit of help from other parts of the periodic table. Subject items to a dip in the chemical tank to get some interesting new flavours out of the other side. Do not drink.

Enrichment Chamber

It looks like a rejected theme-park ride, and the safety of its contents are equally of dubious origin. However, the beneficial item-altering effects of this tumbling enigma cannot be argued.

Fusion Lab

Supercolliding superconductors were once all the rage. Until somebody minutarised one and now everybody has one. You're not cool unless you have one. At least that's what all the trendy kids are telling me. What is undeniable, however, is that items tend to come out of this machine more potent than ever.

Hydrator

Thanks to the large chunk of ice at the core of the asteroid, you're able to feed in water to your factory. Lay down some pipes and connect up this machine to use the power of good old H20 to help change and alter your items for new purposes. This machine is not a shower.

Kiln

Make things hot. Really hot. Then discover if you've reduced it to little more than a pile of ash, or something surprising and delightful.

It's probably going to be ash, though.

Small generator

Machine don't run on wishes and enthusiasm. They need good old-fashioned electricity. Yes, it's still cool - even in 2024. These machines will provide factory-wide power. Power lines are so 1884.

Large generator

Thankfully your factory is remotely managed, so nobody will have the urge to 'lick the battery', as it were. Especially given that this will provide a substantial power boost over the smaller generators. Give yourself some juice!

So there you go - a good look over what I've been up to recently! I am working on a number of UI improvements and updates, so hopefully I'll be able to share those soon.

I'm now fully in the phase of turning this into a final game. There's a lot of road still yet to go, but completing final models and such is a great way to 'see' progress happening, and helps build the enthusiasm to keep chugging away with the more menial tasks.

Anyways, that's all I have for today. As always, thank you so much if you stopped by to read my rambling development missive, and doubly so for any likes or comments you throw my way. It's really lovely to be able to share all of this with everyone.

Hopefully I'll see you all in the next one, and until then I hope you have a great one! ❤️

#indie games #game development #game dev blog #gamedev #automation #factory game

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korasonata · 1 year

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So, we are fairly convinced that I in fact live in a haunted house. I’ve lived here for almost 10 months now. We moved mid September in the middle of the fall - an OLD old house with big bay windows, white picket fences, french doors, large yard, private garden, porch, basement, and cheap rent. Seemed a relatively good deal at the time.

I remember the day we saw it for the first time. Or more precisely, I remember the drive home where me and my roommate had poked fun about the house probably being haunted, had joked about burning sage and whatnot. You know, joking around as you do. When I tell you, the kind of shit we put up with from day ONE.

Now, I’ll start off by saying that my house has precisely 2 bedrooms, both of which have had their moments, but I will start off with mine. Now, my bedroom is very small. A tiny little shoebox of a room that has an insanely high ceiling and very limited floor space because my house is still heated by radiators and they are freaking huge. There is one small window that doesn’t open. To the left of this window, on the adjacent wall, is a tiny Coraline esk door, the top of which sits at about waist height from the floor up.

It is iterally bolted to the wall.

I’ve never opened this door, because I’m not daft, but I moved my dresser in front of it to block its entrance and I’ve never had any problems.

Although I should clarify, I’ve never had any problems with the door. The rest of my room however…

The first day we moved in was when we had our first incident. I was in my new room, I had no bed, no shelves, but at the time possessed precisely 1 dresser and a suitcase, which I was unpacking. My roommate was sitting in the living room on the couch just outside my door, reading. I was just folding some clothes and putting them in my dresser when I heard a loud THUNK from behind me, where I promptly turned towards the source of the sound. When I turned around I found a long, white candlestick in the middle of my bedroom floor, half used, and very clearly not mine. Now, I cannot stress enough that this room had no ledges, no shelves, there was literally nowhere this thing could have fallen from. My roommate was still reading on the couch, but she had looked up at the sound too, and she was just as confused and weirded out as I was.

This was just the start.

The second incident happened on my third night there, and also coincidentally my first night alone in the house. This incident moves us to the bathroom, where I had consistently been hearing scratching in the walls late at night. Our house is old enough that is doesn’t have a fan in the bathroom, but instead has a really tiny window which you can open to vent out steam. I’d had the window open because I had showered earlier that night. It was about 12-1:00 in the morning and I had gone into the bathroom to brush my teeth and get ready for bed when I heard even more obnoxious scratching coming from inside the bathtub. I walked over to investigate, thinking maybe an animal was under the pipes or something when I heard something outside the window. The sound of digging, but not like an animal. Like the sounds of a metal shovel scooping up gravel. I’d checked the next morning and nothing looked disturbed. But this was not the last time I heard that sound. The scratching continued nightly for the next 3 months as well.

By week 3 my roommate had started having this recurring dream about her bedroom. Now her bedroom, unlike mine, is actually quite massive. It has the same high ceilings, but it has enough floor space to fit a king sized bed and full bedroom set, bookshelves, grand piano, possibly some couches and entertainment unit. It’s huge. The floor is also spongy as all hell. Every room except the bathroom and kitchen have the same floor - thin hardwood planks that had to have been over 100 years old. You could tell it was rotted underneath just by the feel, but her particular room was sunk down a full foot into the floor, and not by design. Like the supports had just kind of given out and the whole floor space had gone with it. Her room was also always infested with spiders. She hated spiders.

Her first dream reflected this fear. Her dream consisted of her lying in her bed where she recounts that the floor had started to swell. The wooden floorboards had started to expand out into a big bubble and when it popped she had gone to stare into the pit it had created. 2 large, dead, spiders had been thrown out and hit her in the chest, and she recounts that she had woken up suddenly, feeling like there was a weight against her chest. She had this same dream with different iterations of dead animals being thrown from the pit. Mice, rats, possums. Every night she woke up feeling like there had been a weight against her chest. On the final night she says she had found a man. A homeless man at the bottom of the pit, alive, amidst a sea of dead animals - there was a homeless shelter on the next street over. He asked her to let him stay. Begged and pleaded and grovelled with her to let him stay, to which she apologized profusely, saying over and over again that she was sorry but he couldn’t stay there, but she promised to help him find someplace to stay. 2 dead possums were thrown from the pit of their own accord. She once again woke up with a weight on her chest, but she never had the dream again after that.

About a month after that I was away from home. I had gone up to my cottage for the weekend, so she was by herself. I woke up one morning to 5 missed calls from my roommate panicking because the house had been making noises. She was yelling about something being in the walls. She complained about scratching sounds and really loud banging noises that sounded like knocking.

Some time in December I was woken up one night. I had woken up because I had heard voices. I remember sitting there with my eyes closed and hearing this kind of murmuring of voices from somewhere by my wall. At this point I remember feeling so exhausted that I didn’t even care. I remember squinting my eyes shut tighter and trying to ignore them because I was so tired that I just could not even bring myself to care about disembodied voices in my room. I remember feeling frozen in this sort of stasis for a while before the voices spoke again closer to my head. There were 2 female voices, the first of which I did not grasp what was said, only that the phrase spoken sounded like a question, and then the second voice replied “just one more”. Following this there were 3 swift knocks on my wall, as if someone had struck it with an open palm, and I bolted awake suddenly, startled by the sound, and yet feeling very well rested strangely.

These were isolated incidents, but there were several recurring things that happened far more frequently, like the scratching in the walls that occurred nightly like clockwork, or the knocking or banging sounds that sometimes, but not always, accompanied this. There was a night light in my bathroom that had come with the house that had no switches or buttons, that up until the 3rd week of living there we did not realize was actually motion activated because it had just been on all the time. But there were other things.

For the first 5 months, the lights in my kitchen flickered a lot. There was nothing wrong with them, they just seemed to do this whenever we were in the kitchen and had the lights on. It used to freak out any guests we had over a lot, but we had just gotten used to it. Sometime in the middle of winter it just stopped. We haven’t had any issues with the lights since.

Very occasionally I would be doing the dishes and then suddenly the basement door would pop open on its own - a door that had hinges and a latch and was also very difficult to open. It was very stiff, so you had to really heave on this thing to get it open, and yet it would just pop open on its own if we didn’t have it locked. This happened on several occasions, and you could hear when it did if you were in another room - it made this really loud, deep banging sound because it was so stiff and you had to really force it open.

There’s a unit above us as well. We live in the main floor of a house, and someone else rents upstairs, but the upper unit is actually completely separate from us. It has its own entrance around the back and there is no link between the two. They were selling both units when we moved in, but the upper one sat empty for a while - we had about 3 months of the house to ourselves before another tenant moved in. Now, I’ve never been in the upper unit, I don’t know what it looks like, but every night like clockwork a light would come on in the upper left hand window. We heard footsteps above us all the time. Something we heard very frequently was what sounded like heavy furniture being dragged across the floor - this would go on for about an hour and then stop.

It was an empty unit. Nobody lived there.

This happened several times when the new tenant moved in as well, it was just easier to excuse because there was actually someone living there now. The new tenant was a single woman that lived alone. Often we would be sitting in the living room and be hearing all manner of crashing and dragging of furniture for hours and we would go “wtf is she doing up there” only to discover she wasn’t even home.

The latest incident happened just a couple days ago. I hadn’t been home in 3 days, and so the first night I came home I had gone down into the basement to do some laundry. Now, I feel it’s important to note that this took place in the basement for several reasons, the primary one being that none of the above has ever scared me. Floating candlesticks being thrown at me from across the room? That’s fine. Doors that open on their own? Child’s play. Scratching, banging, scraping, dragging, disembodied voices in the walls? None of it has ever scared me.

The basement scares me.

Or I don’t know if scared is the right word, but it definitely makes me uneasy, and for good reason. See, if you thought the rest of the house was a bit decrepit, it doesn’t even hold a candle to the state of my basement. To get there you have to go down this VERY rickety wooden staircase that’s so steep it’s almost completely vertical. There’s holes going into the side of it, pipes that go right through the steps. As you get to the bottom there is a broken window on the left that is so dirty no amount of scrubbing could ever hope to get it clean. There’s holes and cracks in the walls filled with what looks like a dark sludge. Holes in the ceiling with all manner of hanging and severed wires draping down. Rotted insulation. Rotted wood. Spiders everywhere. Cobwebs cover literally every surface that isn’t the floor or the washing machine. Nothing down there is up to building code.

There is also 2 VERY sketchy side wings of this basement.

There is the main area right at the bottom of the stairs that has my washer and dryer, an old utility sink, and a half collapsed, half rotted set of wooden shelves that I use to store my laundry detergent. The light switch at the top of the stairs connects to this area, however the 2 separate side wings do not. It’s a bit difficult to describe, but if you go down the stairs and turn right and walk all the way to the other wall, you hit a sort of T intersection where you can go left or right and go around the wall on either side. Around the right wall is my circuit breaker that is lit with one of those old clicker light switches on strings. It’s a small space, so that side isn’t as bad. The other side however looks straight out of a horror film.

The other side has a bigger space. There’s a machine in there that takes up almost the whole room that I’m going to assume is a water softener but I’m actually not sure because the water softener I had at the house I grew up in looked nothing like this, but I don’t know what else it could possibly be. The foyer of this wing when we moved in was full of old rotted and broken shelves. There’s all manner of cobwebs everywhere - triple the amount of the main room. The wall is also wood here. I’m going to assume this was once the base of a crawl space that has since been very shoddily blocked off. It looks like they patched it with old pieces of wood fence, not even legitimate boards, also rotted because of course they are. It’s literally falling apart.

Some of the fence pieces have fully collapsed, so there is plenty of cracks and gaps, but behind it is just blackness. It’s like the mouth of some weird cave. If I looked in the gaps for too long I always got this weird lingering feeling like something was watching me. And it was cold. This room was cold unlike the rest of the house - I mean the rest of the house was cold, but nothing like this. The entire room is also dark at all times. There is 1 light switch which is on the opposite side of the room. Meaning you have to walk through this entire maze of machine, cobweb infested, freezing void wall encased room to get to the lights - a single lightbulb on a pull string that only lights up about 2 feet around it, so the majority of the room is still pitch black anyway.

We don’t go in this room.

I digress.

Anyway, I hadn’t been home in 3 days. I went down to do some laundry. 2 steps down I noticed something odd - a trail of wet footprints going down to the basement. Now, I didn’t particularly question this at first. My roommate had been home, so I figured she had simply gone down to do some laundry earlier. Nothing overly suspicious. It wasn’t until I went to go back up again that I started to question them. See as I had noted, the trail of footprints I had seen had gone all the way down the stairs, a clear impression on each step.

Down, but not up.

The main laundry area had been empty. We didn’t go into the side wings. It was then that I had the sudden realization that while I had seen my roommates car in the driveway earlier, I had in fact not seen my roommate once since I had gotten home.

I get to the top of the stairs, a little bit concerned. Afraid she was sitting somewhere in the left side wing murdered or something, I was frankly a little bit afraid to look, and was not about to investigate because this is how people die in horror movies. So I texted her. For peace of mind really, just to make sure she wasn’t, you know, dead. Just a quick “hey, you’re upstairs right?” She replied almost instantly with a yes she was just in her room. Relieved, obviously my first reaction is just “oh good, I just saw the trail of wet footprints going down to the basement and just wanted to be sure.”

Her response?

“I haven’t been down to the basement in 2 days.”

#haunted #haunting #haunted house #stories

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